Palm Sunday marks the beginning of Holy Week, the most sacred stretch of our Christian journey. But this is not just liturgical transition. It is a theological confrontation. For this is the day Jesus publicly reveals what kind of King He truly is.
As we center ourselves in Matthew 21 verses 1–11, I want to invite us to look again. Not only at the palms, not only at the crowd shouting “Hosanna,” not only at Rome watching nervously from the sidelines, but at the most overlooked participant in this scene: the donkey. Because Palm Sunday is, in many ways, about carriers of destiny.
Matthew tells us that as they approached Jerusalem, Jesus sent two disciples ahead with very specific instructions: “You will find a donkey tied, with her colt with her. Untie them and bring them to me.”
I assure you that this is not improvisation; this is intention. Jesus knew exactly what was about to unfold: the betrayal, the denial, the torture, the humiliation, the crucifixion. He knew very well that Lazarus’ resurrection had already stirred the city. He knew that the crowds were swelling with messianic expectation at Passover. He knew that Rome was watching.
Yet He moves forward with great deliberateness. For Holy Week does not begin with tragedy; it begins with sovereignty. Even when the road leads to Calvary, Christ is not a victim of history. He is the Lord of it.
As the crowd cries out:“Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!” they recognize something true. They call Him Son of David. The irony is, however, that while they anticipate deliverance, they misunderstand the method.
They expected political liberation. They wanted a revolt against Rome. They envisioned a powerful King riding in on a majestic stallion. Instead, Jesus chooses a donkey to carry forth his destiny.
Matthew pauses to tell us why. This fulfills the prophecy found in Zechariah 9:9:“See, your king comes to you, gentle and riding on a donkey.” Now how interesting is that description. Gentle. Meek. Humble. It almost seems like an oxymoron, like it doesn’t belong in the same sentence as the word king. Yet this is not weakness. It is redefined power.
N. T. Wright reminds us that Jesus’ entry was a “parody of empire”: a deliberate contrast to the military parades of Caesar. Rome entered cities on stallions after conquest. And yet Jesus enters Jerusalem on a beast of burden on His way to a cross.
Palm Sunday confronts our own temptations toward triumphalism. For the Kingdom does not advance through dominion, nor through the advancement of the empire but through self-giving love. A self-giving love that was manifested on the Cross of Calvary.
Now let’s take a moment to linger where I believe the Spirit wants to draw our attention today. Matthew says the donkey was tied up. Bound. Restricted. Stationed at a doorway. As a matter of fact, some accounts describe it being at a crossroads where two ways meet. This is powerful imagery that so many can still resonate with today.
How many have felt tied up in certain seasons of life? Physically restricted. Emotionally bound. Tangled in addiction. Ensnared by shame. Trapped by fear. Perhaps even feeling imprisoned on the sidelines of life, seemingly destined to watch the world pass them by as they remain stagnant and stuck.
The donkey’s entire destiny, humanly speaking, would have been to carry the burdens of others. It was considered a lowly creature. Uncelebrated and unnoticed. And yet Jesus knew exactly where to find it.
Beloved, I’m here to tell you that God looks to the margins to carry His message. He does not search the palace stables. He does not borrow Rome’s war horse. He doesn’t enter the empire’s palace. It’s in the margins of society, that he sends for those that others overlook.
And for communities that are accustomed to being marginalized and overlooked, this is good news. Latino evangelicalism, for example, has long been forged in storefront churches, in prayer meetings in living rooms, in sanctuaries that smell like café and intercessory prayer. We have known what it means to worship without prestige, to serve without platform. And today’s narrative reminds us once again that these are the very places where the Messiah does his commissioning.
And as Jesus sends the disciples ahead to find this lowly donkey, he instructs them: “If anyone says anything to you, say that the Lord needs them”.
Oh I must be honest, that phrase still stirs me every time I read it. The Lord needs. The One through whom all things were created. The One who calms storms. The One who raises the dead. Has need.
Not because He lacks power, but because He has chosen partnership. The donkey becomes a carrier of destiny not because it is impressive. The donkey doesn’t suddenly transform into some majestic creature. No, it becomes available. And that availability becomes sacred.
As Augustine wrote, “The God who created you without you, will not save you without you.” There is a remarkable humility in the Lord’s choice to draw us into the missio Dei- the very mission that originates in His own heart. Yet despite the fragile vessels we are, he still chooses to involve us in this work as he invites us, like that lowly donkey, to be modern day carriers of destiny. What an incredible invitation!
As I think about the implications of this, there are three key movements in this pericope of Scripture that move my heart. My prayer is that they would move yours as well.
The first movement we see here is one of Liberation.
The donkey was untied. Someone out there needs to hear that today: Jesus does not pass by what is bound. He speaks release over it. Some listening today have been tethered—by fear, by insecurity, by narratives that convinced them that they were peripheral. Yet when Christ calls, He unties.
The donkey was tied until Jesus sent for it.
And he was released not for wandering but for mission. It is untied to carry Christ. Freedom in the Kingdom is never aimless; it is always directional. It is always missional. When we are liberated from sin, and from fear, and from shame, it is so that we may participate in God’s redemptive work here on earth. Even today, we are liberated to carry Christ into spaces where He must be seen.
The second movement we find in this pericope is one of Covering.
Matthew says the disciples laid their cloaks on the donkey. And this detail is rich with covenant imagery. In the Hebrew Scriptures, cloaks often symbolize identity and authority. We saw that in Joseph’s robe of favor.
We see it in the book of Ruth, when Boaz spreads the corner of his garment over Ruth as a sign of protection and redemption. And we see it again as Elijah throws his cloak on Elisha as a sign of prophetic succession. Garments mark status, but they also signal covering.
When the disciples lay their cloaks on the donkey, they are not merely preparing a seat for Jesus. They are extending covenant covering, wrapping this once-exposed creature in shared belonging and shared witness, as if to declare: what carries the King will not remain uncovered.
For those who feel exposed today, economically, emotionally, or spiritually, this image is deeply comforting. When Christ enters your life, He does not leave you uncovered. He gathers you into a covenant community where identity is restored, where dignity is affirmed, and where covering is shared.
Finally my brothers and sisters the Third movement we find in this narrative of scripture is one of Purpose.
The donkey’s very trajectory changes the moment Jesus sits upon it. What was once defined by obscurity becomes entrusted with sacred purpose.
And once Jesus mounts the donkey, chaos begins to surround it. Crowds begin shouting. Branches are waving. Political tension is rising. The noise I can imagine was overwhelming. Yet the donkey does not react to the volume of the crowd; it responds to the weight of the Rider.
That is true purpose. Purpose is not reacting to every voice nor is it responding to every threat. Purpose is remaining steady under the One who calls you. And so the greatness in this text was not in spectacle of the moment. It was in the steadiness of this lowly donkey.
To make it even more amazing, we know that this donkey had never been ridden. It was not polished, it was not professionally trained. And yet it carried Christ without resistance. The colt’s qualification was not experience. It was surrender.
There is something profoundly pneumatological here. The Spirit does not merely initiate our calling; the Spirit sustains it. In our Latino Pentecostal witness, we have learned this very well. We have seen that what God entrusts, He also empowers — like the immigrant mother who works long hours, who prays in the kitchen before dawn, and who still carries faith into the next generation because the Spirit strengthens what circumstances try to exhaust. The same Spirit who anoints also steadies and sustains us when the weight feels heavy. What Christ calls us to bear, the Spirit enables us to hold.
Because sometimes, just sometimes the holiest thing we can do is remain steady under the weight of His glory.
As I close today brothers and sisters let me leave you with just one last thought. It is no accident that the road to the cross begins on the back of a donkey. From Bethlehem’s manger to Jerusalem’s colt to Golgotha’s cross, the pattern is consistent: glory wrapped in lowliness. Palm Sunday reminds us once again that God entrusts destiny to the humble and lowly.
And there is a word here for us as leaders, for mature believers, and for those navigating complex cultural landscapes. We cannot be distracted or destabilized by every crowd. Because applause is fleeting. “Hosanna” today can become “Crucify” in a matter of days. No, our steadiness must come from who we carry.
Even today, the Lord still looks for carriers of destiny. Not the most polished. Not the most powerful. Not the most platformed. But those that are like that humble donkey: willing, surrendered, and steady under the weight of His glory.
When Christ makes a triumphal entry into your life, the greater miracle is not that you carry Him. It is that He chooses to be carried by you.
Hosanna in the highest.